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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27747535">Pleas and Prayers (and Pleasing Prayers)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain'>TellMeNoAgain</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Monster Mash and Fall Feels October 2020 [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Translations of Sumerian Poetry, Blood Magic, But I Still Call Dead Dove- No One’s Forcing You To Read This, Creature Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Fucking on the forest floor, Inanna is the Sumerian Goddess of Love and Skull-crushing, Incubus Stiles Stilinski, Look I Wanted an Incubus, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Masturbation, No Doves Were Harmed In The Making Of This Fic, Semen Magic, So I Made Stiles an Incubus, Sorry Not Sorry Enheduanna, Sweat Magic, The consent is a little dicey, in the sexiest way possible</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:15:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,578</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27747535</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>READ THE TAGS</p><p>Sorry, wait, that's a really shitty summary.</p><p>Stiles needs help.  More help.  A LOT MORE HELP, OKAY?</p><p>Luckily, he's a resourceful guy, and he knows how to research, and he's got enough spine to get what he needs.</p><p>Even if he's not 100% certain he's memorized the entire translation of that prayer to Inanna correctly...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles/Inanna</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Monster Mash and Fall Feels October 2020 [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm not apologizing for this, but I am blaming a half-completed degree in Middle Eastern Archaeology.  I'M LOOKING AT YOU, ANTHRO 305.</p><p>Gratitude to the TW Section at WriterBuddies Discord server!  Y'all give me plot bunnies and then help keep them well fed, BLESS YOU.</p><p>Beta'd only insofar as everyone had a chance to tell me I'd misspelled a word and no one did.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stile’s hand shook as he lit the last candle.  “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he breathed anxiously, watching the flame flicker.  It couldn’t go out.  If it went out, he’d have to wait a month and he wasn’t <em>entirely</em> sure he had another month left.  “Pleeeeease,” he whined at it.  “Please, please, please, please- good little flame, good little baby fire, please, please stay.  Stay!  Stay, I command you!”</p><p>What the <em>fuck</em> use was being an actual goddamn spark if he couldn’t rely on fire to do his bidding, again?</p><p>The flame guttered and then flickered for a heart stopping moment, and then held steady.  Stiles turned his head to let out a whoosh of anxious air.  “God, yes, thank you,” he whispered, followed by a guilty flinch and a correction to “Goddess, yes, thank you.”</p><p>If there was one thing the ancient texts all agreed on, it was that it paid to be polite.</p><p>His eyes traced the complicated eight-pointed star sigil drawn on the forest floor in flower petals, feathers, and blood.  His blood, to be exact.  The spell had been very specific about that.</p><p>Fire, blood, petals, check.  Sweat, check, he was pouring sweat.  Feathers of doves, check.  Wine and water- check and check, and if getting wine hadn’t been a bitch and a half, with his dad in full wagon-mode and every single one of his friends ready to note red flags and run tattling to someone, Deaton probably, Derek, maybe, Scott, absolutely.</p><p>Still. Wine.  Check.</p><p>And that left the last, worst thing.  Stiles swallowed.</p><p>Goddamnit, he was a three-jerk-a-night wonder, on the typical weekend.  He could do this.  He could absolutely jerk it here, in the woods. 
</p><p>He had to.  He didn’t have <em>any other choice</em>.  Not if he wanted protection, not if he wanted to survive.</p><p>“Inanna,” he whispered, to the stillness of the forest.  Weren’t there supposed to be, like, birds and shit, even in the middle of the night?  There had been earlier in the night.  Birds chirping and frogs croaking and insects, so many buzzing and humming insects that had all fallen silent, at some point, the background noise lost as he built the ritual space.  He cleared his throat and slipped his hands beneath the waistband of his loose cotton shorts, cheeks blazing as he touched his half-hard length and began to stroke it with that perfect almost-too-much tension.  </p><p>He tried to remember the words, reminding himself that Deaton said it was the intent behind them more than the actual syllables, in any great working of magic.  “Great queen of queens,” he intoned as seriously as he could, because that had been memorable.  “Blessed child from a, um, holy womb, greater than your own mother, wise and smart, full of knowing, lady of all the foreign lands-” and man, did America count as a foreign land, hopefully he could draw her here, he really really needed her help,  “life-force of the teeming people,” and man, did <em>that</em> phrase stick with a guy,  “I will recite your holy song!”  </p><p>The words began to tremble, just a bit, as his hand hit the perfect rhythm, as the frisson of doing something like this, something so private, here, in the middle of the woods, began to creep up and down his spine with sinful fingers.  “True goddess fit for divine powers,” he remembered, and then hazarded,  “your, uh, your pretty speeches are magnificent.” Something like that, anyway.</p><p>He drew a breath and then continued, feeling that familiar tugging sensation pool deep within his gut, heated and greedy, <em>ready</em> for this moment, for this stage, here, for this desperate last attempt to ensure he’d be safe, ensure he’d survive, “Deep-hearted, good woman with a radiant heart,” he gasped, hoping it was true, as heaven-sent a prayer as any he’d ever prayed in church as a young boy beside his mother.  <em>Please help.  Please be good.  Please, Inanna, whoever you are, please, please, goddess, please</em>.</p><p>He pictured her then, juicy and ripe, with fat thighs and a huge chest, huge eyes and bouncing curls, and whispered, “Please, Inanna, please,” almost without realizing it, as his orgasm rippled through him and he spilled onto the nearest star point, missing the candles by mere inches. “Ahh,” he gasped, choking, the air suddenly too heavy to draw in, and strangely scented, almost musky, as well.</p><p>The heat that blasted against his skin was wet and lush, like how he imagined a rainforest would be thick and soupy, and suddenly every stitch of clothing was too much, against his skin.</p><p>“Sssssssweat,” hissed a voice from in front of him, and Stiles struggled to lift his eyelids, to draw the first breath, as the voice continued, “ssssssemen, essssencccceee.  Bloood.  You have called me,” drawled the voice, licking across his skin and sliding into his brain, wrapping around his baser urges and drawing them up, up, up, making him gasp again, practically drinking in the wet, heated air all around him.  “I have come,” she said, her voice <em>everything </em>important in the entire world.</p><p>“I-” stammered Stiles, struggling to open his eyelids, to look at her.</p><p>“You,” she agreed, in a voice that rang and rang in his head.  “May look upon me,” she said, and the humor in her tone made him sink to his knees, lifting his head and opening his eyes.</p><p>She looked <em>nothing like</em> how he’d pictured her.</p><p>Well.  No.  That wasn’t right.  She <em>was</em> thick and lucious, her curves literally only ending because another curve had begun.  And her eyes were huge, huge and dark and heavily outlined with- like in all the drawing, emphasized with dark lines of makeup, exotic and wondrous and <em>maybe it wasn’t makeup</em>.  Maybe this was the effect women were replicating with make up, Stiles realized.  </p><p>Maybe this was- this was what every culture tried to re-create.  </p><p>She was so entirely and completely hot.</p><p>“Worsssssship me,” she commanded him, leaning forward eagerly, stretching and writhing, and <em>holy shit</em> he hadn’t expected anything this overwhelmingly beautiful, he was well on his way to another orgasm just looking at her, just listening to her <em>voice. </em></p><p>Worshipping her just made sense.  His body already <em>was</em>.</p><p>“You have bought my time with the grace of my doves and the perfume of the world’s bloom,” she told him, smiling invitingly.  “You have begun your new worship of me in the oldest ways, sweet to my senses.”</p><p>Sweet to her senses, fuck, Stiles would <em>love</em> to be sweet to her senses, he thought blearily, trying to take all of her in at a glance, or even just form a simple perception, and failing.</p><p>“Flatter me,” she told him, pressing up against the magical barrier of the spell’s physical constructs.</p><p>“L-like the light of the rising moon, she exudes delight,” quoted Stiles without meaning to, the words falling from his lips.</p><p>“Yesssss,” she hissed, her lips still quirked in that smug smirk.  “You know the wordssssss.”</p><p>“I- uh,” said Stiles.  “I studied?”</p><p>“Studied,” she repeated, tilting her head, her black lined eyes narrowing.  “You,” she said slowly, “are frightened.”</p><p>The words rang through the heavy air like a bell.  Stiles scrambled to his feet, ready to flee before he realized she had stated the simple fact and then stood there, pressing against the barrier and <em>waiting</em> for him, head tilted in curiosity.</p><p>Stiles stammered, “Y-yes, yes I am, I need- please, you are the lion of Uruk, please, I need-”</p><p>“You need me,” she agreed, her voice wrapping around him and lifting him up, drawing him in until his toes touched the first of the feathers on this side of the diagram and he stopped his advance, jerking back with all of his strength.</p><p>Well.  Most of him jerked back.</p><p>One noticeable part jerked <em>forward</em>.</p><p>“Give me,” she murmured, a hand curling in the air inches from his crotch.  “Worssssship.”</p><p>“I will, I will <em>absolutely</em> give you worship,” he promised her.  Easiest promise to make in the <em>entire</em> world.  “Only, I need <em>help, </em>lady, lion of Uruk, skull crusher and, uh, deep-hearted, good woman.”</p><p>“I am these thingssss,” she hissed at him, nodding, her wide eyes taking in the whole of him.</p><p>“There’s- someone-something- and it’s killing all the virgins,” gasped Stiles. “I don’t- I need to not be a virgin.  Like, yesterday.”</p><p>“You want me to <em>take</em>?” she laughed, in a voice like a million small golden bells chiming all at once. </p><p>“I- no.  Maybe, if you want to,” he breathed, thinking about it, thinking about losing his virginity to the Sumerian goddess of sex, for fucks sake.  That would be- <em>incredible</em>.  But, wait, she had laughed. Probably not in the cards, then.  “But I need, uh, the texts, the scrolls, they said, you can give me- you can, like, imbue me, and I can go out and get laid.  With, whoever.  I pick.”</p><p>She studied him, eyes sweeping closed in a graceful swoop of lash and lid.  “Not unwilling,” she said, like a threat, like a challenge.</p><p>“Never,” he agreed, because she was Inanna, the goddess of <em>love</em> and <em>destruction</em>, not rape.  Never rape.  Rape was an abomination to her.  Rape was an abomination to him, in fact, so that was fine.  No rape.  One hundred thousand percent agreement.</p><p>“You will be mine,” she breathed, and the word <em>mine</em> kissed along Stiles’s skin like a physical touch, drawing goosebumps up from the depths.  He swayed forward.</p><p>“Y-yes,” he agreed, nodding.  </p><p>“I will be yours,” she promised, with those impossible innocent-yet-all-knowing eyes, her head cocked at the smallest angle, lips curved in another lucious line to match the rest of her lines.</p><p>“Please,” he begged her, one hand rising to caress his side of the barrier.  “Protect me, give me what I need to protect myself, <em>please</em>.”</p><p>She studied him and then demanded, “What do you need, mine, my child, from your mother, what do you need?”</p><p>“Protection,” he whispered.  “Protection and like, big dick energy.”</p><p>“Big dick energy,” she repeated, before throwing back her head and laughing, her bosom and stomach and thighs quaking with the force of it, and crossing Stiles’s eyes.  He let the sound, carefree and happy, wrap around his head and heart, and draw him another sway closer- closer but not within- the design on the forest floor.  </p><p>“Ahhhh, child,” she sighed, eventually, looking at him with a wicked grin.  “In passsst centuriessss, how my children did suffer, from my giftssss to them.  I do ssssso love thisss new world, and all the old waysssss you have embraced here.  Big dick energy, indeed, my beloved.”</p><p>Stile quirked a relieved grin up at her, dopily.  “Yes, good,” he breathed.  “Thank you, please, please, thank you, lady of the eight-pointed star, queen of the second orb.”</p><p>“You are mine,” she reminded him gently, as if it had always been so, and he swayed forward, once again eager for her praise and acceptance to caress his whole body and mind and soul.</p><p>“I need-” Stiles began, licking his lips.</p><p>“You must seal with me, my beloved,” she said, quirking a challenging brow up at him.</p><p>“There’s not much room, in there,” said Stiles blankly, stumbling along the edge and looking inside, as he ripped off his clothes.</p><p>She filled- everything.  She could fill the whole world and the universe beyond, she was so <em>vast</em>, but she definitely filled the scant place in the center of the star.</p><p>If he stepped on the ritual lines, broke them or even just marred them, mussed them, she’d be loose and while the texts were kinda vague on what would happen with an ancient goddess <em>loose</em>, Stiles was willing to bet it wasn’t great.  Especially given her dual nature of sex and destruction.  Kisses, sure, but also <em>skull-crushing</em>.</p><p>Still, there was no other way he was gonna get laid, was there?  Not- not with one of his crushes, anyway, all of whom <em>absolutely</em> had no problem ignoring his interest so far.</p><p>Stiles took a deep breath and carefully stepped into the center of the star.</p><p>Whaddya know.  They both fit.</p><p>“There is room,” she breathed, and the scent of her breath was flowers in huge gardens at the height of their fecundity, “for this,” she continued, sinking to her knees.</p><p>A goddess of love and sex was <em>on her knees</em> in front of Stiles.  </p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Fuck, that was weird.</p><p>And also the single hottest thing that had ever happened, anywhere.
</p><p>She looked up at him and quirked a grin, murmuring in voices that overlapped, multiple voices although only her two same lips moved, he noted, “Big dick energy, ey, <em>mine</em>?”</p><p>“Big dick energy,” Stiles requested breathlessly.</p><p>“So be it, as I will it, so it will be,” she intoned, and stretched forward, wrapping her lips around his dick.</p><p>When he woke up several hours- days?- later, naked in the center of the sigil, with the scent of scorched feathers and petals and blood all around him, he knew everything had changed.</p><p>He’d been granted his protection.</p><p>Stiles bit back a sob of relief as he realized it had worked and he was going to be able to survive this, after all.</p><p>Also, damn, he was<em> hungry.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hunger was like an itch inside him, one he couldn’t reach no matter how hard he rubbed his stomach.  And he did rub the itch- he chased the itch of the hunger all over his body, in fact, rubbing at his arms and thighs and stomach, at his neck and cheeks and lips.  It traveled, just under his skin, like the worst sensations of poison ivy and dehydrated thirst.</p><p>He was just so <em>hungry</em>.</p><p>“What have we here?” asked a smarmy voice from the darkness, and Stiles wrapped arms around his stomach, shocked at how much he <em>needed</em> to hear that voice say more.</p><p>“Peter?” he asked blearily.</p><p>“Stiles,” purred the other man.  “Only, Stiles, you <em>smell incredible</em>. Barely human at all, what <em>is</em> that you’ve done with yourself?”</p><p>Stiles stumbled a few steps in the direction of the man’s voice.  “Peter,” he gasped.  “Help, I need-”</p><p>“Help, obviously,” said Peter, and maybe part of Inanna’s protection was better eyesight, but his teeth gleamed, just a little, even as far away as they were from each other.</p><p>Far away.  <em>Too far</em>.  Stiles needed- needed to be closer, right now, right <em>fucking</em> now.  “Peter,” he whimpered, as his stomach twisted.  </p><p>“You smell,” said the man, suddenly much closer, shockingly close, now, “<em>incredible</em>.  What is it?  What did you do?  God, Stiles, I <em>want </em>you and I don’t- I’ve never wanted- you’re far too young for me.”</p><p>“Need, want,” agreed Stiles, nodding, as the itching, burning sensation eased everywhere that Peter’s eyes trailed on his body, but only in those scant inches the man scanned, and only while he scanned them.  “Please, Peter,” he begged, falling forward.</p><p>Years later, he would always wince, remember how <em>clumsy</em> he’d been. Inanna’s laughter would ring in his ear as she teased him, her tongue flicking at his neck, <em>Clumsy was what Peter wanted, though, then</em>.</p><p>“You’re burning up, what <em>is</em> this?” asked Peter, his voice tight and shocked.  “What- Stiles-”</p><p>Stiles clutched at the man’s shoulders, first, and then walked his grip across them, to the neck.  Peter tensed and drew back, but relaxed when Stiles traced his trembling fingers up the neck to slide up and around, fingers sliding easily through Peter’s short hair, flexing, and pulling him down just as Stiles tilted his face upward.</p><p>“Stiles-” gasped Peter, pupils dilated so wide they almost looked completely black, “What are you-”</p><p>“Protection,” hissed Stiles, and launched himself at Peter’s mouth.</p><p>Peter was on his knees in moments, shocked, no doubt, shocked and shaken, as Stiles’s newly forked tongue delved and sucked and stole, and with every breath, breathed desire into Peter until the man was trembling on the edge, shaking with the oncoming force of his orgasm.  “No,” growled Stiles, pulling back, somehow, somehow realizing even then, as clumsy as he was, as new.  Somehow realizing even then that the orgasm would end everything, everything he needed and wanted- and pulling himself back, clumsily, ripping himself from Peter’s mouth and leaning as far back as he could while keeping his hands on the kneeling man’s shoulders.</p><p>“Stiles,” gasped Peter, clearly reeling.  “What- what-”</p><p>“Help me,” hissed Stiles, the hunger sliding under his skin from the hot, nearly satisfied place in the center of his chest.  He heard a woman’s laughter in his ears and closed his eyes.  “Please, Peter,” he begged, sliding to his knees and tilting his head back, showing throat, showing vulnerability.  <em>Making promises</em>.</p><p>There was a soft sound of weight shifting on leaves, and then Stiles gasped as Peter shoved him over onto his back, the warmth of Peter’s body blocking out the slight chill of the air.  “What <em>is</em> this, Stiles?” he muttered, sniffing at Stile’s hair and neck, scenting him deeply.  “You’re never- you don’t-”</p><p>“‘S a spell,” spat Stiles.  “C’mon, I’mma spark, give me- ‘s just a spell, Peter.  Do you- do you consent?”</p><p>“Here, on your back, in the dirt and leaves and bugs and sticks, Stiles?” asked Peter incredulously.</p><p>“I can flip over,” offered Stiles.  “I don’t- I don’t care, will you- <em>please </em>Peter.”</p><p>“I’m fairly certain you just kissed my soul out of my body,” mused Peter slowly.</p><p>“Yes, good, yes, glad to be of service-” babbled Stiles.</p><p>“That wasn’t a metaphor,” growled Peter, shoving closer yet, pushing Stiles back until his shoulders <em>did </em>hit raw earth, dirty with crinkling, crackling leaves, plants and sticks and all kinds of crawling things creeping across it, he was sure of it, and none of it <em>mattered</em> because everywhere Peter touched, the <em>itching stopped</em>.</p><p>“<em>Please,”</em> whined Stiles.</p><p>“When life drops a naked bitch whining for your cock on the forest floor in front of you,” said Peter reassuringly, “you <em>take</em> the opportunity, Stiles.  Spread.”</p><p>Stiles’s legs fell apart as he shifted on the leaves, trying to put his body back into contact with Peter’s.</p><p>“You’re lucky I was out for a stroll,” muttered Peter, undoing his belt buckle.</p><p>“Not luck,” panted Stiles.  “You always- after midnight- on game nights.”</p><p>“Because Derek and I switch shifts so that he can mentor the little cub through his aggress- hey!” yelped Peter.  “You had better not be attempting to <em>entrap </em>me, Stiles,” growled Peter.</p><p>“I am, I am, I totally am, I’m trying to entrap you, I am, please, Peter,” begged Stiles, shifting his hips up, to give the man better <em>access</em>.</p><p>Hands flew up while Peter continued to glare suspiciously down at him, his expression unchanging until he correctly identified that Stiles was <em>dripping </em>with the goddess’s fluids, when his eyes widened in shock.  “Stiles, what have you done,” he whispered in dismay.</p><p>“Protection,” moaned Stiles, rubbing up against Peter’s naked thigh.  “Please, Peter, protection.”</p><p>“Condoms?  You want me to produce a condom?” asked Peter incredulously.  “Stiles- we’re neither of us wearing any <em>pockets</em>.”</p><p>“No, for- <em>me-</em>” corrected Stiles, frowning up at Peter.  He could usually count on Peter not to be two steps behind him in a conversation, the man was usually three ahead.  “Protection from the- you- just-” he reached a hand out, and wrapped it around Peter’s cock, seating the man at the entrance to his own body, and pressing the fat head through the muscle there.  Peter sank the rest of the way in, yelping twice at the pressure or the sensation or- who knows, some Peter shocking thing.  Great Lady, the way he slid into Stiles and the itching <em>stopped</em>, Bless Inana, Lioness of Ur, Queen of Queens and-</p><p>“What are you mumbling,” grunted Peter, fucking as if his life depended on it.  </p><p>“What?  I’m not mumbling,” protested Stiles, because <em>prayer wasn’t mumbling, okay?  </em>He gasped, shifting his hips up, slapping his ass into Peter’s crotch as roughly as he could, loving every second of sensation, of feeling, loving the freedom of fucking here, wild and wondrous and-</p><p><em>Yessssssssssssssss</em>, hissed the divine voice in the back of his skull.  <em>Do not stop, belovvvved.  Do not-</em> </p><p>“Stop, don’t stop-” gasped Stiles, echoing his goddess, the feeling of his thirst quenched overriding all other thoughts as Peter pounded him roughly into the dirt under the ripe half-moon sky.</p><p>“Can’t- can’t- Jesus, you smell like- <em>fuck</em>, Stiles-” gasped Peter.</p><p>Stiles nodded his head weakly and grinned vaguely up at the man.  “Just fuck, Peter,” he commanded, feeling powerful, feeling <em>full</em>, feeling ripe and lucious and-</p><p>“Glowing,” grunted Peter.  “You’ve started <em>glowing</em>, what <em>have</em> you done with yourself, Stiles?”</p><p>Stiles’s grin broadened until his cheeks hurt, and Peter was staring down at him, shocked, perfectly caught at the apex of his pleasure as Stiles murmured, “<em>Special</em>.”</p><p><em>You are indeed, my acolyte,</em> purred the satiated and satisfied voice of his goddess, as Peter shook and trembled above him, staring down at Stiles as if really seeing him for the first time.</p><p>Stiles looked back, fearing nothing, now, nothing at all, the earth itself reaching up to cradle him gently as his goddess made her pleasure known.</p><p>And wasn’t that a pleasant change?
</p><p>Wasn’t that everything he’d wanted?</p><p>Several birds, one stone.</p><p>Several wolves, one lioness.</p><p><em>A metaphor worthy of us,</em> the goddess purred in his ear.  <em>I am hungry, my priest.  If this one will not serve again, find me another.</em></p><p>Stiles narrowed his eyes at Peter and said, “Hey, what’s Derek up to after he’s done babysitting Scott, tonight?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fun?  Yes?  We continue if you tell me it's fun.</p><p>Warning:  We might continue anyway.  Chapter Two is already written.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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